


And So He Sleeps

by Riverdalerider99



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Emotional Hurt, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Hallucifer, Hell Trauma, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Platonic Cuddling, Season/Series 07
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-25
Updated: 2015-12-25
Packaged: 2018-05-09 04:59:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,184
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5526248
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Riverdalerider99/pseuds/Riverdalerider99
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Sam bursts into the fresh air outside, bent double with his hands on his knees, panting for breath. Dean’s a second behind him, gun drawn. Sam wishes that everything could be solved with Dean’s gun and some holy water and matches, but nothing can fight the monsters (no, not monster, fallen angel) in his head."</p>
<p>Also known as: Sam's fighting hallucinations of Lucifer, and sometimes he needs Dean's help. Not much plot, mostly just an exploration on Hallucifer and Sam's time in the Cage.</p>
            </blockquote>





	And So He Sleeps

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for Tumblr user fallintosanity for the Bittersamgirlclub Secret Santa Gift Exchange, hosted on Tumblr. They prompted, among other things, "Sam and Hallucifer" and "Sam Hurt/Comfort," so I tried my best!! Merry Christmas :)
> 
> I'm not really sure what happened here, but hey, that's fic. It started out as my attempt to try my hand at Hallucifer and just kind of grew from there, and is also much heavier on the hurt than on the comfort. Oops! Thank you to Tumblr user mjolnirsammy for an amazing lighting-speed beta - all remaining mistakes are my own. Thoughts and comments are much appreciated!!

Sam gets no warning. One moment he’s squinting at his laptop in the motel room trying not to see Dean refilling his flask for the third time this evening and the next he sees Lucifer smiling in the corner of the room and then there are hooks on the ceiling clinking together and the air is frigid and Sam can’t breathe, can’t think, and then suddenly he’s moving. He crashes into the motel door and scrabbles at it aimlessly for a few agonizing seconds before he finds the doorknob and remembers how to work it.

He bursts into the fresh air outside, bent double with his hands on his knees, panting for breath. Dean’s a second behind him, gun drawn. Sam wishes that everything could be solved with Dean’s gun and some holy water and matches, but nothing can fight the monsters (no, not monster, fallen angel) in his head. Sam’s hair hangs over his face, hiding him from the blur that has to be the parking lot.

Dean must have realized what’s going on by now because he’s put his gun away. “He should be used to it by now,” comes Lucifer’s voice, and sure enough, when Sam looks to his right, there he is, smile blinding. Except no, not really, because he did that to Sam in the Cage and this is definitely not that. “Little Sammy, what a wreck. No one wants him.”

Sam flinches and looks away and the next thing he knows Dean has his hands on him (but not like that because that was Lucifer wearing Dean’s face not Dean, not Dean, Dean would never do that, and Sam knows this but sometimes it’s hard to keep it all straight). He’s being manhandled up and then Dean’s hands are on his face and the fog over his vision lifts a little.

“Jesus Sam, you’re burning up. Why didn’t you say anything?” No, no, he can’t be burning up he’s out, he’s safe, Dean got him out. But what if he didn’t? No, don’t think about that he can’t think about that. He opens his mouth to answer but all that comes out is a cough, and then another one, and then more and more, coming one after another and Sam barely has enough time to take a breath in between. He feels Dean’s hand rubbing roughly up and down his back, and is thankful for the meager warmth it provides. There’s cold deep, deep in his bones.

Finally the fit subsides, and Sam is left with Dean standing in front of him, the space between his eyes wrinkled in worry. “Fuck, Sam.” He says, voice gruff and low. “When were you going to tell me you were sick, huh?”

Sam pushes him away. “M’fine. Not sick, just sleep dep.”

Even as he says it he knows it’s a lie. Sleep deprivation doesn’t explain the ache in his throat or the cough he’s developed, but if Dean knows he’s sick then they’ll stay in the motel and Lucifer will stay with them.

“Aw, Sammy, you love me,” comes Lucifer’s face, suddenly superimposed onto Dean’s, as if Lucifer’s trying to occupy the same space. Sam flinches violently and pushes Dean away, stumbling in what he hopes is the way back to their room. All of a sudden it’s too bright out, blinding white light joining the fog from earlier. Sam shakes his head, ignoring the shock of pain, and finally, thankfully, finds the door. He can feel Dean’s presence a step behind him, ready to catch him, but he can’t bring himself to turn around, to see Lucifer’s face leering at him.

Sam has had enough of Lucifer’s face to last him a lifetime. Wait, no, that’s not right. To last him millenia. Fuck, this is giving him a headache. Sam finds the desk and collapses into the chair, absentmindedly wondering why he didn’t feel this crappy before. Everything just kind of hit him all at once.

“Sam. Bed.” Lucifer’s Dean voice comes out of nowhere. Or is that Dean’s voice? Sam doesn’t think Dean would be ordering him to do what Lucifer enjoyed doing, but everything’s muddled and he doesn’t know who’s who and somehow he ends up on the bed anyway. He bites down on the whimper that threatens to escape him - good thing too, Sam can’t show Lucifer fear. Except he’s still on his back, and now there’s a blanket covering him. Dean, then, not Lucifer.

Sam pushes himself up again, flipping back the covers. If it’s not Lucifer than he can protest. “Dean, no, I have to do more work. We need to track down the leviathan. S’important.”

“Yeah, Sam, I don’t think we’re gonna be going anywhere for a while. Not ‘til you shake that fever anyway.”

Sam feels the fatigue wash over him, as if his body is realizing exactly how long it’s been since he’s slept. He lets Dean tuck him back into bed and shuts his eyes tight when Lucifer starts singing “Mary Had a Little Lamb.” It was one of his favorites down in the Cage; he liked to play with the lyrics, taunt Sam with his impurity, with his mom. Sam doesn’t know if he can even remember the real words, just knows that “whose fleece was red as blood” will be branded in his brain forever. Another reminder of how Sam failed Mary.

Then Dean’s hand is warm on his arm, shaking him gently, and he’s so real and suddenly Sam wants to grab him and never let go, wants to pretend he’s six years old again and Dean could protect him from anything. But now he knows better, knows that Dean isn’t infallible and that he probably just wants to be unsaddled from Sam. Sam and his mess, Sam and his hallucinations, Sam and his constant failure.

Dean’s voice is soothing and calm when he speaks though, and Sam savors it, knows it won’t last. It might even be Lucifer, trying to trick him. Sam finds he doesn’t care. He’s so fucking tired, so sick, and it feels like his insides are shriveling and Dean’s worry is like a balm.

“C’mon, take these. You’ll feel better soon, Sam. I promise.” There are pills placed in his palm and he dry swallows them obediently, lies back down when Dean’s hands tug at him. He tries to tell Dean not to make promises he can’t keep, but everything’s still kind of foggy and he can’t make his mouth work the way it should. Instead, he finds himself scrunching up into the blankets, drifting into a half-asleep haze.

Somewhere along the line, that haze must have turned into sleep, because it’s full dark outside when Sam jolts out of a nightmare from the Cage, only to hear Lucifer’s half-shouted “Sleep well, Sam?” coming from right next to him on the bed. Sam turns his head to see that Lucifer’s taken up camp next to him, under the covers with cold feet pressed against Sam’s. He holds back a scream and launches himself out of the bed, pulling the bedclothes with him in his haste.

He pushes his way outside again, hands on his knees, chest heaving. It’s better outside. There’s more space, more air, fewer ways for Lucifer to get intimate. It’s better outside, so Sam lowers himself gingerly to sit on the pavement next to the door. The cool air soothes the too hot surface of his skin but does nothing for the bone-deep cold he carries with him everywhere.

Sam’s just starting to drift off again, shivering slightly, when Dean bursts out, frantically calling for him. Sam shoves himself to the side to keep from getting run over, catches himself on his mangled palm when he threatens to tip over. The pavement is rough on his hand. It sends a shock of pain through his arm, but Lucifer doesn’t budge, just gives him a cheerful wave from where he’s leaning against the Impala.

“Jesus Christ, Sam, what the fuck are you doing out here?” Dean demands, and Sam finds himself shrinking back a little, despite his best efforts. Guilt flashes across Dean’s features, and he immediately softens his body language. Fuck, Sam should not be afraid of his brother. It’s Dean, for God’s sake.

“Nothing, nothing. Don’t worry about it.” Sam levers himself up, only to have his vision blur violently as his head pounds with the sudden change in altitude. He stumbles, almost goes down, but Dean catches him. Dean’s always there to clean up Sam’s messes.

“‘Don’t worry about it’ he says,” Dean mutters as he shepherds Sam back into the motel room, his breath warm against Sam’s neck. “Sam, I woke up to an empty room, of course I’m going to fucking worry.”

“Sorry.”

“Jesus, Sam. Don’t do that again.”

Sam can feel the moment the tension bleeds out of Dean, all of his hard edges disappearing all at once. He must have really scared Dean. Then again, that’s all he seems to be good for these days. Giving Dean heart attack after heart attack (or should he say, liver failure) with his crazy. “Sorry,” he says again, knows it’s not enough even as it’s leaving his mouth, but he can’t do anything better.

Dean heaves a sigh. “It’s fine man, just go back to sleep before you broil, okay?”

Sam complies, but finds himself balking a little when he sees the bed. Lucifer’s not there, not yet anyway, but he’s off in the corner, winking, and Sam knows it won’t be long until he’ll find himself sharing a bed again.

“Bunk buddies, just like the good old days! Isn’t that right, Sam?” Lucifer’s voice is too bright, too much for the dark room, and Sam jumps.

“You okay Sam?” Dean asks, giving him a careful nudge in the direction of the bed.

“Fine.” He’s not, far from it, but Dean wants him to be, needs him to be, so he puts on a brave face and sits down gingerly on the bed. He’s caused Dean enough trouble tonight.

Sam pulls the blanket over himself reluctantly, lying on his back stiffly. He’s nowhere near sleep, and he knows Dean isn’t either, when Lucifer appears in his field of vision again. This time he sees Lucifer walk up to him, a smirk on his face. He adds a roll to his hips as he moves, and Sam swallows bile. It gets worse, though, when Lucifer sits down. He rubs a hand up and down Sam’s arm slowly, and Sam just can’t do it. He’s trying, trying so hard to stay put so Dean won’t worry, but Lucifer is  _right there_ and it’s just too much.

He has to get out has to get out no no no no. Sam launches himself up and into the corner, where he can shield himself with his legs and the walls.

Off to the side, Lucifer looks hurt. “Now now Sam, I thought we were friends.”

Sam just shakes his head, and suddenly Dean is there, crouched in front of him.

“Alright, Sam, you’re clearly not fine. What’s up?”

Sam shakes his head again. Dean doesn’t deserve this, doesn’t deserve any of this.

“Come on, Sam. I don’t bite, just tell me man.”

“It’s fine. Just Lucifer being annoying. I’ve got it under control.”

“Yeah, ‘cause what I saw there was ‘under control.’” Dean sighs, runs a hand through his hair. “I can’t believe we’re doing this. Sam, you can’t keep pretending everything’s fine when it’s not. Whatever’s up, it’s making you sick, and it’s keeping both of us from sleeping. And now you’ve got me having a chick-flick moment. So go sit on the bed and tell me what’s going on. Don’t make this more awkward than it has to be.”

Sam goes where Dean prompts him. “It’s nothing, okay. Just…”

“Just what, Sam?”

“Just… every time I lie down Lucifer lies down with me, okay? And you couldn’t pay me to sleep next to him.”

Dean looks at him for a second, before sighing again. “Okay Sam, here’s what we’re gonna do. You’re gonna take some more meds and then you’re going to lie down. Trust me, I’ve got this.”

So Sam swallows some more pills and lies down obediently, tries not to cringe when Lucifer starts moving towards him, a hunger in his eyes that Sam remembers all too well. But then Dean lifts up the blankets and settles in next to him, creating a solid line of warmth from Sam’s shoulder to his knee.

“There’s no way there’s enough room for all three of us, right? Just sleep, Sam.”

Sam doesn’t have the heart to tell Dean how often Lucifer used his face, or what he did while wearing it. He half expects himself to have the same reaction, but it’s as if his subconscious can tell that this is the real Dean, because he relaxes almost immediately. He curls into Dean automatically, head on his brother’s chest. Dean slings an arm around Sam, and they both settle into the warmth.

Sam’s sleep is dreamless that night.


End file.
